


An Acceptable Reaction

by EchoSilverWolf



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cuddling, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Sherlock, John is a Good Doctor and More, M/M, Minor Injuries, POV First Person, POV Sherlock Holmes, Post-Case, Soft Sweet Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 05:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15812619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoSilverWolf/pseuds/EchoSilverWolf
Summary: *It was stupid. I know that it was stupid, and every movement of John’s body next to me on the stairs is screaming you are an idiot before the words even leave his mouth.*Sherlock gets injured on a case. John is there to patch him up. Things just sort of happen.





	An Acceptable Reaction

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by the incomparable englandwouldfalljohn  
> Bless her for her ability to see past my overuse of commas and ellipses.

It was stupid. I know that it was stupid, and every movement of John’s body next to me on the stairs is screaming _you are an idiot_ before the words even leave his mouth.

They do, along with several other predictably colorful expletives, as he maneuvers me through the doorway and across the sitting room before dropping me unceremoniously onto the sofa. A bit more forceful than usual… then again I did almost get myself shot in front of him. Should really consider myself lucky that I got the butt end of a pistol to the skull instead of a bullet. Head hurts too much to really dwell on it. Lean back and sink into the cushions... rest my eyes as John leaves to get the med kit.

His soldier tone startles them open a moment later.

“Nope! I told you, no sleeping Sherlock. You’ve likely got a concussion, now open your damn eyes!”

Can’t think of anything sarcastic or witty to say at the moment, so I do as I’m told… not that many, myself included, can just ignore John’s ‘Captain Watson’ voice - throbbing headache or not.

He kneels in front me, sighing in exasperation, before taking my chin in one calloused hand (hope he doesn't notice the shiver that runs through me at the touch), turning my face this way and that before grabbing a small flashlight and flicking it back and forth between my eyes.

I wince and struggle not to close them.

Another sigh as he sits back on his heels dropping his hand. (Resist the urge to pull it back).

“Lucky git,” he mutters, reaching for a flannel he must have dampened while in the loo.

I turn away from him, and he gently (he is always so gentle when he patches me up) dabs at the drying blood on my left temple.

Try to speak and it comes out humiliatingly shaky as he leans forward and rests his other hand on my knee for balance.

“I’m s-sorry John, I should have waited.”

His light, breathy chuckle as he shakes his head tells me he isn’t truly angry anymore. The hand on my knee pulls away, and I immediately want it to return.

“Yeah, yeah you should have, but when do you _ever_ wait for backup?  Now hold still…”

Cold antiseptic against my skin and I realize how warm my face is… probably flushed.  Unacceptable. Embarrassing.

Try not to focus on the feeling of John’s skilled hands putting me back together (sudden inopportune desire to know what they would feel like taking me apart) one butterfly plaster at a time.

That plan goes to hell and I inhale sharply as one hand brushes a piece of unruly hair behind my ear. He leans forward further, tongue poking out in concentration as he reaches to place the last one…

Loud ping from behind, my mobile alert, and I turn my head abruptly in its direction without thinking.

Our faces collide in the most ungraceful, almost comical, way. Nose to nose… eye to eye (God, his eyes are so blue this close up), the air is suddenly charged and time stops (it most definitely does not stop, but am unsure what other words could properly describe the sense of slowed motion currently taking place).

John lets out a little ‘ooph’, and I can taste the warmth of his breath as it ghosts against my mouth. Wonder for an instant what it would be like to chase it back to its origin… before I realize I already am. His lips are softer than I would have thought. He exhales through his nose harshly at the contact but incredulously he does not pull away, instead doing the opposite (always surprising me, John Watson), pressing back, a bit tentatively, into mine.

His lips are warm (and _moving!)_ against my own as my brain catches up and fully grasps that _I am kissing John Watson, and he is kissing back_ … and that I have absolutely NO idea what I am to do next.  

Panic slightly and part my lips unintentionally. This is apparently an acceptable reaction in this situation; can feel his mouth quirk up into a smile against mine (fairly certain he has realized I am out of my depth), as he catches my lower lip between his, gently, before releasing it completely.

Curse myself for the needy, pathetic whimper that escapes my throat unbidden at the loss, before immediately making it again as his hand finds its way into my hair, against my scalp, guiding me back.

My own hands flutter indecisively at my sides before choosing a safe location to land: one on his arm and one mimicking the one in my own hair.

John’s hair is dense but incredibly soft between my fingers - a bit shaggier than normal - can’t recall the last time he’s had it trimmed. Hope that he doesn't do so anytime soon.

Startle a bit when his tongue teases at my lips, and he runs one hand soothingly down my neck, holding me to him. Cautiously meet his with my own and can actually _feel_ the vibration of the low noise he makes against my mouth as he slowly leads me through this new oral dance of give and take.

The knowledge that I caused that sound is unfathomable, even with the evidence quite literally right in front of me.

Never really understood how having someone else’s tongue in one’s mouth could be pleasant; however, John’s is clever and talented. With it currently tangled with my own, I can’t imagine there being any way for it to be _un_ pleasant.

Slide my hand cautiously down his arm, to the spot where his hand is gripping my knee for support, and gently cover it with my own. Something like a mild electric shock buzzes through my nerves at the contact. Somehow this small act seems almost more intimate than the kissing.

When my fingers begin to trace his skin tremulously, I am rewarded with a soft hitch of breath against my lips and John’s hand slipping from my hair to brush lightly against my cheek.

The pain in my head that, until now, has remained barely a background thought - blissfully dulled by an onslaught of endorphins, most likely - decides to make itself known again with a knifing shock and, instinctively, I flinch.

John pulls back abruptly, looking both worried and bit shaken, yet in full doctor mode, as he reaches to carefully check the no doubt darkening bruise at my temple. His touch is light, and though his hand lingers for a moment, he is standing abruptly, breaking all points of contact without a word and hurrying out of the room… and I am alone, chastising myself for thinking the last several minutes were anything more than a momentary lapse of reason. A mistake. Certainly we have crossed some invisible line that _friends_ just do not cross.

Completely appalled at my own stupidity, I flop back onto the sofa, curling in on myself as I roll to face the cushions. I know I look ridiculously childish and I couldn’t possibly care less.

Can hear John’s hesitant footsteps approaching again and resist the urge to turn and look at him. I can delete this. Pretend it didn’t happen. Maybe he will do the same and we can go on as we were? Can’t stand the sudden rush of fear at the possibility of this becoming something that causes him to leave. He can’t leave… I need him… I…

I can tell he has paused, about a foot from the sofa, as he clears his throat nervously.

I need him to just go. Go off and do whatever it is he needs to do to forget this ridiculous transgression ever took place… I just need him to leave now, before this… before it becomes a reason he leaves for good. Not sure I can survive th-

“Did it hurt?”

John's voice, behind me - it sounds too small. Small and awkward and a bit rough. Not… _right_ . Not how John _ever_ sounds.

I am grateful my back is too him, that he can't see my face while I lie to him…

Realize I'm already nodding despite myself... well, as much as one can nod whilst on one's side… and that my physical show of acquiescence has exactly nothing to do with the current hammering taking place in my skull.

“Mm. Must've done.” His voice… it’s still too small,  too _cautious_...

Can hear him take a hesitant step toward me as he speaks. I curl tighter around myself and I will him to turn and leave me here, while at the same time mentally cursing myself for the horribly embarrassing burning behind my closed eyelids.

John’s hand startles me, a light pressure against my hunched shoulder. Jerk away violently with a sound vaguely like that of a cat hissing. Irritatingly (thankfully), he is not deterred, and his gentle touch becomes a firm grip.

Inhale sharply at a sudden shock of _COLD_ against my temple. Exhale hard as warm fingers brush a stray hair from my forehead. Detest the small, desperate sound that accompanies that breath.

The sofa dips as he attempts to balance himself on the very edge behind me.

Why won’t he just GO?  Let me sort this out without his distracting touches and gentle _doctoring_ …

“We all make mistakes sometimes, Sherlock,” he starts, any remaining hope of this _not_ becoming awkward vanishing. Crushing feeling under my sternum. Can feel that ridiculous stinging in my eyes threatening to become even more humiliating.

Can _hear_ him thinking of what to say next.

Freeze completely when it comes.

“But, maybe… _maybe,_ next time, could we do that other bit _without_ the part where you get the piss beat out of you first?”

All my breath leaves my lungs on one susurrated syllable, “ _John_?”

Attempt to turn my head, but John’s hand on a flannel full of ice is still pressing me down.

Gentle pressure against my hip… his free hand… shoving lightly, as John huffs a new, small little sound, like a laugh but softer… and closer… the exhalation is tickling my ear. The flannel is removed from my temple.

“Budge up a bit, yeah? You’re taking up the whole bloody sofa and my arse is going all pins and needles trying to sit like this.”

Can’t think of a coherent combination of words; nod awkwardly again instead.

Feel him lean into me as I start to move, his weight settling behind me, fidgeting, a new sensation pressed quickly and gently into my hair like… like a...

His leg is pushing at mine, wiggling into the space between my knees. Will myself to relax and allow him to shift and squirm behind me; allow him to position us both into this small space.

A hand snakes around my torso, easing into my own… fingers intertwining. Watch them joining; watch them coming to settle against my middle.

 _My_ hand laced into _John’s_ hand. Fascinating. Terrifying. Amazing. _New_.  

John’s breath, warm, stirring the hair at the back of my head.

Fluttery soft pressure again, this time peppering the nape of my neck. _Kisses._ John’s breathing evening out, his pulse slowing, can feel it calming against my back.

Tentatively, I raise our joined hands, pressing my own lips, dry-soft, against his fingers and hear his breath catching slightly. Hold them there for a moment before whispering,

“John? This… this is _good?”_ a question not a statement… I sound like a child. Unsure, nervous… I despise this feeling of inexperience… inadequacy.

The grip on my hand tightens, pulling me more firmly against John’s front. His hold says he is afraid I might move.

He is warm, and soft, and he...

“It’s good, Sherlock, ‘course it is,” his voice is soft and sleepy.

It sounds _right._

It sounds like John should sound, has always sounded, but… _more_.

Let my eyes fall closed; let the heavy weight of him seep into me…

It was stupid, I know it was stupid...but it was _worth_ _it_.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Outside of epistolary writing, this is my first attempt at writing First Person POV. I wanted to try something new. Hopefully I pulled it off ok :)


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